


This Parent- Teacher Thing

by awolfnamed_Nyx



Series: This Parent/ Teacher Thing [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Daddy Derek, M/M, Teacher Stiles, Teen Wolf AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awolfnamed_Nyx/pseuds/awolfnamed_Nyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't usually like talking to parents, but for Isaac he'll make an exception. He wants what's best for the little guy and if that means sitting face-to-face in a conference with Isaac's intimidating(ly sexy) father, then that's what Stiles must do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Parent- Teacher Thing

The door bangs open before he can even get up to collect the art projects.

                “Are you that Stilinski teacher? Why’ve I been called here? Did Isaac do something? I’m certain he didn’t do whatever it is you think he did, so you can-“

                “Whoa!” Stiles throws his arms up the air like the guy’s shoved a loaded gun in his direction. His eyebrows are probably incapable of climbing any higher up his forehead. “ _Dude_ \- I mean, Mr. Hale, I’m guessing?” The disgruntled (and unnecessarily attractive) man nods minutely while angrily staring Stiles down. It doesn’t make him cower so much as make him want to grin. He’s lived with the Sheriff Extraordinaire long enough to be immune to Death Glares (his dad’s still got the patent pending).

                He gestures for Mr. Hale to have a seat in the chair he stole from the teacher’s lounge down the hall. The man does so only after he’s scowled at it for a good ten seconds, folding his arms defensively. Stiles doesn’t comment, though he wants to.

                “I’ve called you here today to discuss Isaac, yes. _But_ ,” he continues quickly when Mr. Hale opens his mouth, “it has nothing to do with bad behavior.”

                That seems to throw the guy for a loop. He leans back in his seat with his eyebrows doing some weird dance on his face. Stiles assumes this means he’s confused. Hale purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “It’s not.” He makes it sound like a statement, but Stiles recognizes it for the concerned question it really is.

                He shakes his head. “Nope. I actually asked you to meet me so I could get your permission to further his learning experience.”

                One dark brow arches high on the guy’s forehead. “How?”

                “Weeeeeeell,” Stiles drawls. He’s got to hand it to the guy; there probably aren’t a lot of his kid’s teachers that aren’t intimidated by his intense staring. Not to mention the astounding hotness, the leather jacket, and the hulking muscles underneath it. Those probably help, too. He clears his throat before his mind can form a train out of any of those thoughts. “I’m assuming you’re aware of Isaac’s… difficulty paying attention in class.”

                “I thought this wasn’t about his behavior,” Hale immediately barks. Stiles waves his hands rapidly.

                “It’s not, I promise. Here, let me show you something.” He gets to his feet and rounds the desk, heading for the small tables littered all over the room. He hears Hale huff before following him.

                They wind their way through a sea of tiny chairs and glitter spills on the linoleum floors until Stiles pulls up beside one of the stations in the back. He squints over the four colorful projects until he catches sight of big red eyes on the paper. Giving a little cry of triumph, the teacher carefully extracts the artwork from the pile and hands it gingerly to the apprehensive-looking man.

                Hale takes it quietly but even he can’t hide the shock that colors his expression when he really looks at the squiggly drawing.

 It’s actually a very good drawing for a first grader. The large shape in the front is undeniably a black wolf, if the pointed tail and large mouthful of sharp teeth is anything to go by. But the way Isaac has shaped it, the wolf doesn’t seem scary. It runs proudly beside the three little wolves at his side, keeping a watchful red eye on them as they trample through the spiky green grass. Like a parent. The most alluring thing in the picture, though, is the perfectly drawn triskelion in the corner. Hale’s eyes are glued to it.

“When…” They guy’s at a loss for words, something Stiles thinks doesn’t happen much.

He nods and crowds closer to look over Hale’s shoulder. “He drew it today during arts and crafts. That seems to be the only class he wants to participate in beside recess and lunch.” Hale snorts a bit, which makes Stiles smile. Laughing doesn’t seem to be something the guy does very often. He reaches over to point to the little gray wolf that’s been circled with a dozen blue stars. “I’m going to assume this is him. And the rest are your family?”

Hale nods soundlessly, still engrossed by the picture. He barely even reacts when Stiles says, “I think you should let him take classes at the Beacon Hills vet clinic on the weekends.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in, it seems, because Hale simply blinks at him for a moment before going back to staring at the paper in awe. But, ah, _there_ it is. The man glares at Stiles with much more fire than he did earlier. It’s kind of hot, in a scary sort of way.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?” It’s amazing, this guy’s control. He seems only a moment away from letting his eyes bleed red, or allowing his teeth to lengthen over his bottom lip. Certainly looks livid enough. “Are you calling my son a damned _dog_?”

“ _What_? No, no, of course not!” Stiles reaches out to take the artwork from Hale’s hands before he can shred it to pieces. Nails are already starting to stretch into claws. “I just figured- you know, since nobody else knows about his ‘wolf thing’,” he uses finger quotations, “that he should have someone who can teach him through some wolf-friendly activities. You know, hands-on learning and all that. It helps tons with school work; I’ve seen it before, I swear.”

Hale’s already shaking his head. “That won’t be necessary. I can teach him.”

Something in Stiles twists when he catches sight of the uncertainty in the man’s flitting eyes before is disappears. He knows Hale knows he can’t help Isaac like he wants to. “Don’t you have to work and stuff?”

“I’ll get my hours shortened.”

                “But don’t you have to-“

                “I’ll make it work,” Hale growls- honest to God growls. If Stiles stares hard enough, he can see the guy’s mind whirring- switching shifts at whatever job he’s got, demanding different hours, etc. All the stuff he shouldn’t have to stress about because-

                “Dude- Mr. Hale,” Stiles flails his arms a little as he places Isaac’s picture safely on the little table. It settles over little Malia Tate’s glitterific master piece gently.

                Hale shakes his head. “No, I’m-“

                Ignoring the whisper in his head that this is a _bad idea_ , Stiles grabs at the man’s shoulder. “Derek.” This gets his attention, even if it is in awe of his stupidity. Whatever, he’ll find out Stiles' stupidity can also translate into bravery. Or it could just be his ability to make awkward situations worse, either one. “Derek,” he repeats, “this isn’t about you, man. I mean- it kind of is, but- you know how-” Stiles huffs and just goes a different route. Talking to parents without offending them is _hard_. “What I mean is that, dude, you’re a great dad. Isaac doesn’t shut up about you when we talk about our families on Mondays. He freaking _adores_ you. But…” He clears his throat. “There are a lot of things you’ve taught him, but he’s in school now. You’ve got to let the teachers do some of the work, right?”

                “I highly doubt Deaton is qualified by the state to teach six-year-olds.”

                Stiles snorts out a tiny laugh and marvels at Derek’s scowl losing a bit of its intensity. “I agree, but he’s not the one teaching the baby werewolves. It’s-”

                Derek crosses his arms defensively over his chest and levels Stiles with an unimpressed look. “Tell me it’s not McCall.”

                “Uh…”

                “The answer’s definitely no, then.”

                “Aw come on!” He hasn’t moved his hand from the man’s shoulder so he pushes at him a bit. Derek doesn’t budge. “Scott’s not that bad!”

                “Our first week here, at the fair.  He and that Whittemore boy-”

                Stiles winces. He knows all the trouble Scott and Jackson caused that day; he had been there taking candid shots of the children at the town fair for a sick Danny when it happened. “Okay, okay, point taken. But it was mostly Jackson's fault. And Scott paid for the damages afterward! That’s good, right?” Derek’s eyebrows do this thing that makes Stiles think it’s not all that good. He tries a different tactic. “Hey, Laura was there, wasn’t she? Ask her what she thinks!” _And she likes Scott_ , he doesn’t say. Laura Hale is one of the women that Scott’s charmed with his dopey smile and kind words, but they both know the lady views him as no more than an adorable puppy. Not to mention one must factor in his hopeless infatuation with Allison, but Laura's soft spot for Scott still stands.  

                Derek obviously knows this because his eyes roll so hard Stiles himself feels a headache coming on. But finally the guy unlatches his arms and settles his hands on his hips, pursing his lips in Stiles' general direction. It takes a second for him to say, "Fine, I'll go talk to McCall. But if Isaac gets hurt when I leave him in that idiot's care-"

                "He won't! I promise! I'll be there the whole time." It takes so much effort to try and hide his excited grin that Stiles gives up. "It's going to be awesome!"

                Eyes rolling yet again and lips looking less thin, Derek- _Mr. Hale_ , Stiles, jeez- gazes down at the picture once more before heaving a loud, put-out sigh. Stiles is already pumping his fist in the air when he says, "Fine, you win."

                "Okay," he says with a goofy bob of his head. "Okay, I have to call Scott and get Deaton's permission and get you to sign this paper for permission and-"

                "Right, sure. I'll bring him by your dad's place tomorrow and we can get that done." Mr. Hale- fuck it, _Derek_ crosses his arms again, but it seems less... defensive somehow, and Stiles is going to count that as a win, thank you very much. The man's eyes lift from the tiny table and, instead of darting toward the door like a trapped animal (Stiles has been subjected to that more often than not), his gaze lifts and catches Stiles'. And it stays there.

                Suddenly hyper  aware of his hand on the broad shoulder, Stiles swallows shallowly, and he most certainly does not feel his heart stop when those technicolored eyes drop to follow the movement of his throat. Is it just him, or did it just get _really_ hot in this room? "Um..."  

                Something changes in Derek's face so quick Stiles barely catches it. But whatever it is spurs him to moving out from under Stiles' arm and turning his body to the door, like a dismissal. "I should go. Isaac's waiting with Laura so...."

                There's something akin to disappointment weighing heavily on his shoulders, but Stiles musters up a smile. It's the smile he gives out on the days he's just not feeling very smiley. Derek doesn't seem to notice so he waves a hand at the door nonchalantly. "No, yeah, go ahead. I'll ask the office to give you a call and set up an appointment with my dad. Easy peasy." And then Stiles will only have to feel awkward with his apparent crush on the man when he drops of Isaac. No sweat; he can endure this guy's (unfairly sexy) appeal once a week. He'd done it for longer with his first male crush in high school.

                But Derek seems to have other plans. "Or," he says quietly, like his next words are a secret, "I could, you know, give _you_ my number.... That would make things easier right?" He clears his throat into his fist roughly. His ears are starting to burn red. 

                "I, yeah sure- I mean, yes it would- I'd like your- yes." Something is seriously wrong with Stiles' mouth. No matter what his brain tells it, it won't shut the fuck up! He clasps his hands behind his back just in case they start to wave excessively.

                There's an awkward silence in which Stiles shifts his weight from foot to foot as he tries not to say anything stupid like "If I get your number, I'm going to call you randomly just so I can hear your voice" or "Did you know that those jeans make your ass look amazing? 'Cause I sure do" or "We're at the 'exchanging numbers' phase now. Does that mean we can call Isaac's first day at Werewolf Training our first date?". Derek just stands there and smirks after a while.

                "Are you ever going to get out your phone?"

                Yeah, putting his hands behind his back did nothing to help because he still flails like a maniac trying to get his phone out of his pocket. Derek just smiles and, God, his smile is all teeth. Perfectly straight, pearly white teeth.

                When they finally get the contact set up correctly (Stiles' hand kept mistyping because Derek was standing, like, two inches away looking over his shoulder, and then Derek's hand covered his and he typed the info in himself; Stiles willed himself not to blush but it probably didn't work), Derek gives him another heart-stopping, toothy grin and disappears out the door.

                It takes way too much effort for Stiles to cross the room, but he makes it work and collapses in his chair. He unbuttons the first few buttons on his shirt and fans himself with his hand. That wasn't so bad, right? He can totally keep his cool around that fine, muscled... protective... caring....

                Oh, who the hell is he kidding? He wants to climb that man like a tree! Stiles heaves a loud groan and buries his face in his hands. Maybe controlling himself around Derek is going to be harder than he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually my fist ever fic on ao3. Please be kind, but I'm really curious as to what you guys think. Oh, yeah, Teen Wolf belongs to Jeff Davis and MTV and all that.  
> -Nyx


End file.
